A/N: Hi, folks! This is actually my first oneshot. I got the idea watching Dawn of the Duel just yesterday, as my love for Mahad is unrelenting. I wanted to convey how he might have felt about sealing away that kind of power. This mostly relates to the anime, but I think it could fit in with the manga as well. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy it. Read it, definitely tell me what you think. Cheers!
/
It had started with a fever.
A high fever, that came on so suddenly that young Mahad saw stars and nearly collapsed beside the courtyard well. Ako, the Pharaoh's head magician, had caught the boy before he fell to his knees.
"Ah, Mahad, you must have had a bad omen," he tutted, helping him to some shade and to a drink of water. Ako laid a wrinkled hand on his head. "A bad omen, to make you burn like the desert sand. And you are so pale!"
The magician was very old, but he was respected (though he doted on his youngest student), so that was what Mahad had assumed as well. Maybe he had slept in the light of an unlucky star, or cast a bad spell on accident – he was still learning, after all –...
But it wasn't till several minutes later that he realized he had not finished his thought, and had not determined the particular ill that had befallen him. The only things in Mahad's head when he regained consciousness were how badly his head hurt, and the realization that he was lying on his back, old Ako hovering over him.
"I could not catch you!" he was saying, wringing his hands. "You got up, and you stumbled away, and there was this odd flash of magic in you, and you fell, my boy – you have not hit your head, have you?"
His student did not answer him. He felt too sick, and too tired to listen to Ako's constant talk. He could only nod, murmuring an agreement as a guard's strong hands lifted him. Mahad was grateful to him, because Ako would not have been able to move a tall nine-year-old so easily. Not without magic, and Pharaoh abhorred the wasting of magic.
People on the route had noticed, of course, but Mahad thought of little on the trip to his bed but how glad he was that a guard could carry him. And how nice a glass of cool water would be. He slept the rest of the day, and was not awoken until the sun was high.
The magic burst that Ako sensed did not concern Mahad. He was new to his training, and still growing. There would be inconsistencies. So the next day he was up and about, even returning a message from Pharaoh himself through a servant: "Inform his Excellency that that I am grateful and honoured by his concern. The gods have blessed me again with health."
He had felt very grown-up, sending his own words to King Akhenamkhanen. Not so grown-up when Ako began his fussing anew, but it had been nice while it lasted.
Such a scene should not have been a concern in the palace. Mahad rarely fell ill, but anyone could be struck by a disease, if the gods so willed it. He was a only a boy, and when the youth was back to his training it was barely given a second thought.
Then it happened again. And again.
The fever would set in quickly each time, and Mahad would stagger, blacking out no matter where he was. A first, it acted as a flu would, and he would be taken to bed. Ako would speak later to his colleagues of the magical flashes he claimed happened each time.
"I tell you in all honesty, my friends, that this is raw power that he does not know he has! I know it, and I worry it will fester and hurt him. He is only a boy."
The other magicians, the members of the Sacred Court, tried to soothe his worries. "Let the physicians look at him, first," they said. "Physical maladies could do the same, to someone like us. Do not worry yourself over great magic from a little boy."
The physicians, though, Pharaoh's finest, found nothing out of the ordinary. So, reluctantly, they allowed Mahad to continue training and pronounced him healthy, if harbouring an apparently weak constitution.
So Ako did heed their advice, for awhile. Until the very worst time.
Mahad collapsed again in front of Pharaoh himself. He had put down his books for the afternoon, to see to it that the Prince and little Mana were entertained. It was nice to have a break sometimes, to play and laugh. They were chasing one another around Atem's favourite fig tree when Mahad's eyes glassed over and he fell forward. There was no time to catch him, so he fell hard.
Mana screamed, and the Prince froze in place. Mahad did not get up. Even more frightening was the crackling energy at his fingertips that could only be shadow magic. The boy began to shake uncontrollably, his hands balled up into fists and his eyes half open. It was as if the magic was going to burst forth from him, no conscious handle there to keep the energy in check.
Pharaoh had begun to approach when he saw Mahad fall. He broke into a run when he began to seize, though all others had stepped back when they saw the magic. Until now, that part had been on an old man's word alone. Now the members of the court could see it, and all could feel its power. In a word, they were terrified.
But not Akhenamkhanen. The Pharaoh was fearless in the face of danger, the commander of armies and the wielder of the Millennium Pendant. He would not leave a boy magician to his fate on the ground because he had a sinking sense in his gut. When a guard came forward, he held out a hand.
"But your Majesty-"
"He is a boy, and needs help."
"It could be a demon, or a very bad omen-"
"Be still - Pharaoh speaks."
Nobody interfered after that.
He ignored all custom when he cradled Mahad's head in his arms, waiting patiently for him to stop shaking and for his eyes to lose their glaze. It took several minutes, but finally, Mahad came to. And nearly jumped, when he saw who had come to his aid.
"My King," he said softly, trying to sit up. "M-my King, my deepest apologies..."
Akhenamkhanen looked up. Guards were on hand now, presumably to protect in case of an evil spirit or jinn. Mana was crying, wiping tears from her eyes as she and Atem clung to the skirts of a nursemaid. Nodding deeply to her ruler, she took each child by the hand and gently led them away from the scene. Others still could only stare.
"Pharaoh, please, allow me to express..."
He hushed him. "There are to be no apologies. I believe that this problem of yours, my child, stems from magic. Powerful magic. And that cannot be your fault."
Mahad blinked. Powerful magic? How could he have that? He was a novice, and a young one at that.
"Be still, Pharaoh speaks." His voice, though, was gentle, the way he usually only spoke to the Prince. Mahad felt a rush of honour beneath his pounding headache. "You are unwell, Mahad. Guard, bring this boy to his bed. My Court will meet immediately." He handed the young magician to one of the nearby men, before standing up, brushing off his robes and striding back towards his throne room.
As soon as he was out of earshot, and the woozy Mahad was on his way to his room, chatter broke out among all who had seen and heard the whole incident.
Mahad himself did not notice a thing. He was torn between joy over the Pharaoh's apparent attention and concern, and the apprehension over the notion of "powerful magic." He was afraid to ask how powerful.
Fortunately, he found himself asleep before any more deep thoughts could plague him. Fever, Mahad was finding, was the most effective way to purge inquiry.
/
The discussion Pharaoh held was short and to the point. Ako and the other priests did not meet in the throne room, but in a smaller, cloistered area, reserved for the magicians. Akhenamkhanen's voice still rang with authority, moreso in the small room.
"The boy Mahad," he said, "is ill. But it seems to be magic that is causing all of this, unlike any I have ever experienced. His own, if I am not mistaken. Curses must not be ruled out either, or demons, of course."
Akhenaden did not look fully convinced. "You are certain there is no physical malady that could explain it?"
Pharaoh nodded. "My physicians – and they are the best – have found nothing the matter with his body. No, this is the domain of the Sacred Court. He will have to undergo examinations, possibly even a trial, to make sure his ka and ba are not compromised."
There was a murmur of uneasiness. Putting a young boy under trial by the Millennium Items could go very, very wrong. But Pharaoh was wise. They would listen.
The king's eyes flashed. "Of course, a trial will only be a last resort. I have full confidence in all of your abilities, and I am certain we will discover the source of his infirmities. Ako tells me he is a promising student. My son the Prince is also quite fond of him. I should like his illness to be pinpointed and dealt with."
What they would find, though, still worried the Pharaoh. He almost hoped it was a bad ka, that could be banished to save Mahad's soul. That, at least, would be easy. "You are all dismissed."
The priests filed out quickly, and there was apprehension in the air. The boy's future held uncertainty. In the world of shadow magic, uncertainty could become the worst possible thing.
/
"So you're sick?"
"Come here, Prince."
Mahad looked up from his scroll. "I guess. But the physicians don't know what's wrong yet."
Atem was sitting on the bed's edge, swinging his legs. "Well, you'd better get well! It's really boring without you."
"My prince, it is time for your lesson!"
The little prince rolled his eyes. "I'm busy, Nebit. I am conducting a royal visit with my dearest friend."
The nurse sighed, from the doorway. "No, you are a spoiled little boy who is trying to avoid calligraphy. Mahad needs rest. Come here, now." The woman smiled apologetically at Mahad. "I am sorry. I cannot make him do a thing anymore." The old nurse was one of Atem's favourites, and had watched Pharaoh as well, when he had been a child. She could be stern with the prince, but her bark was worse than her bite, as Ako would say.
Mahad cast his eyes downward, out of respect, but smiled as well. "I don't mind, Nebit. I miss him and Mana."
Nebit clucked her tongue. "Well, whether you mind or not, Atem has places to be. And hopefully you will be well again to come back... and help him keep his mind on his lessons."
"I hope so. Thank you for your concern." He glanced at Atem, who had flopped backwards onto the sheets. "You'd better go. Pharaoh will be unhappy if you fall behind."
"I'll go later! When I'm King, I won't even need to write. A scribe can do it for me."
Mahad grinned, then leaned forward to pull him back up. "Go on. Don't you want to catch up to me? I can write many more glyphs."
Atem gave his friend a long, calculating look. "Fine," he announced, hopping down from his perch. "I'll go, but only because Pharaohs must be the best at everything. Come, Nebit."
The nurse took his hand. She was used to humouring the demands of little princes. "We will visit tomorrow, when Mahad is better rested," she promised him.
"Alright! Goodbye, Mahad!"
"Goodbye, my Prince," he replied, smiling before pulling his scroll back up. "Tell Mana I miss her."
"Of course!" The last Mahad saw of the prince was Atem running ahead of old Nebit, then turning the corner.
/
The next visit never happened, because the next day the priests announced their tests.
High Priest Akhenaden roused Mahad from his bed. This was both confusing and annoying, because Akhenaden had nothing to do with Mahad's training. Plus, he awoke Mahad with several successive, none-too-gentle pats to the cheek.
"The Sacred Court requires your presence, student," he said roughly, standing back so Mahad could sit up and get a look at him. "So you had best get ready to see Pharaoh and your teachers." He turned to go. "I will be waiting in the courtyard. You have five minutes."
Mahad decided the doctor's orders were undermined by that of the Pharaoh. He jumped out of bed, put on something more suitable, and managed to clean his teeth and run his fingers through his hair to make himself presentable for the King. He made it to the courtyard in time.
Akhenaden said nothing else, only grabbed Mahad's shoulder and led him down the walkway, out of the palace, to the temple of the priests. Everyone around, staff or otherwise,could tell the priest meant business, and steered clear of them both.
They passed under the big stone archway, and Mahad had to keep himself from looking around – he had never been allowed in this room. Not the magician's cloisters or the throne room, of course; but this was the holy temple. This must be important.
There was beautiful calligraphy and art all over the walls. The youth almost forgot to keep his left foot forward until he saw the king himself, standing ahead. The other five priests stood with him. Akhenaden let go of Mahad, and took his place next to Akhenamkhanen. He saw Ako, who gave him a quick smile.
As soon as he was close enough, Mahad kneeled and turned his eyes to the ground. "You called me, my Pharaoh," he said softly, not daring to look up. He worried about what was going on here. He hoped he wouldn't be chastised, or worse, held back in his training because of his affliction. Why had he gotten sick?
He could feel Pharaoh's gaze on him. "So I did," he replied. There was a twinkle of gentleness in his eyes, one reserved for children and those he was fond of. "I have called you here before my Council, Mahad, to discuss your current state of being, and what we have agreed to do about it."
Oh, no. The boy looked up. "Yes, your Majesty."
Akhenamkhanen continued. "I have heard nothing but good things about you from your teachers, in particular when it comes to your magical prowess. However ... it is this unusual magic ability that we think may be causing you all of this trouble. Similar incidents have happened before, though not to your extent."
Mahad listened carefully. It floored him, to know Pharaoh was before him, speaking to a mere, parentless student of magic like he was someone important.
"Stand up, Mahad." The boy did as he was told, briefly looking around at the other priests. Their expressions were unchanging, and he could not turn enough to see old Ako. It wasn't comforting, but at least he knew the king wouldn't chastise him.
"I and my magicians have agreed that further examinations are necessary. You are not to perform any kind of magic unless specifically asked to." There was a flash of what appeared to be sympathy in Pharaoh's eyes. "I cannot promise that all of these tests will be painless. But I do know that your health, and the continuing of your studies, are our current priority. I should like to see you playing with the Prince again, and keeping his studies on track."
Mahad had not felt any relief from this. In fact, now he was even more worried. What kind of tests did Pharaoh mean? And how would they hurt?
"Yes, my King." This was all he thought he could say.
"Ako will escort you to your room, and you will rest for today. Tomorrow, Priest Shimon will fetch you for your first examinations. Ako," he said, nodding to the oldest priest. "Take Mahad home. When you return, we will discuss a course of tests."
Ako's face was serious. "Yes, my King. Come, my boy." The old man stepped forward, putting an arm around Mahad's shoulders as he led them out.
"I'm afraid, Master," he whispered, as soon as they were far enough.
Ako sighed, quietly. "I know, my boy," he replied. "But we will solve this. I promise you."
/
Pharaoh was wrong; the tests were not painful. But that was because Mahad couldn't remember most of them.
For two weeks, a priest went to fetch Mahad from his room, and brought him to a temple, the training grounds, even the throne room – anywhere that magic was easily detected. He would be told to sit down in front of the priests, and various magical fields and spells were cast on him. Some of them made him feel ill, but he never showed it. The magicians were, of course, reporting back to the Pharaoh, and spending long hours poring over the results and conferring with one another.
No matter what they did, though, the result was the same – Mahad felt an intense pulling, at his very ka, and he would have to steady himself. He would rarely remember the actual examinations. But every time, the priests conferred together afterwards, talking in low voices the boy couldn't make out, glancing at him every so often.
"Master Shimon, what have you found?" he asked finally, after the third test.
He shook his head. "All I can promise is that no demons or dark ka have taken you over. I cannot tell you more, my boy." Mahad had to leave it at that.
When he was not being looked at, he was on bedrest. He never saw the Prince, and only caught sight of Mana once, after she had gotten away from her attendants. She almost got into his room, before a servant caught her.
"Mahad!" she wailed. "Mahad, get better, I miss you!"
It all made him feel terribly lonely.
During one of the tests, he collapsed, like he had done so often before. It took him a long time to wake up, and he overheard one of the priests talking about him. About his raw power. As soon as he had noticed the boy's eyes open, though, he had closed his mouth on the subject. Mahad, for one, certainly didn't feel powerful.
The day after that test, he was awoken in the wee hours of the morning. When he opened his eyes and saw all six priests in his room, he sat straight up. Between two guards, the Pharaoh stood outside his door.
Shimon spoke first. "This is the end of our examinations, Mahad. We have come to an agreement on your diagnosis, and your cure. Please come with us."
Mahad got out of bed. "I'll get ready-"
Akhenaden cut him off before he could finish. "Come as you are," he told him in a voice that rang with authority. "The Sacred Court will not wait for you."
Mahad's cheeks heated up with embarrassment, but he said nothing as he approached the magicians. Ako took a hold of his arm, and the two walked in the middle of the little procession. Ahead was the Pharaoh, flanked by a guard on each side. The other five priests filed in behind them.
Nobody was about at this time of night. It was a new moon, and so each priest carried a torch to light the blackness. Mahad wondered why they had chosen this night – the new moon was the least potent, magically. A full moon would have been better, more lending to a cure. This realization did nothing to ease the feeling in his gut. Nobody spoke, until they reached the palace walls.
Mahad was given a horse, and he realized it was one of Pharaoh's prized mares. But he knew better than to argue – he didn't deserve to ride such a beautiful beast, but how could he say no to his king? It was far too tall for him, so one of the guards helped him on. Nothing was said, until they were all mounted and the gates were opened.
Finally, the boy could take it no longer, and he spoke up. "Master Ako, where are you taking me?"
"Silence!" hissed Akhenaden. Pharaoh held out a hand.
"Hold your temper, brother."
The old priest did.
"The magicians' training grounds," Ako whispered. "Now hush."
Mahad, as always, did as he was told. He ignored how strange the talkative Ako was acting. They rode for almost an hour, away from the city and onto the deshret, the holy red sand of the desert. The training grounds were isolated from the main community, only for the magicians and priests.
He had to push back his horror when he realized that executions were also done here. On magicians who had broken a grave rule, or on those whose power became so great that it could not be contained, by themselves or others.
Maybe it was the cool, dark desert night, but suddenly Mahad wanted to turn back. Run and hide from these priests and their plan. Mahad had no family to speak of, just was a ward of the royal family, kept because his magical ability was useful. But none of his companions seemed to betray any knowledge of something so terrible to come. And ... would Pharaoh really kill a child? One who was near and dear to his son?
Mahad bit his lip and continued on.
They stopped at the entrance of a temple. Mahad looked up in surprise, when his eyes adjusted. It was unfinished, with some pieces not yet placed, and very few hieroglyphs carved into the sandstone.
Ako leaned over to tap his shoulder, and Mahad dismounted with the others. He found himself between Shimon and Ako, each holding one arm and leading him into the entrance.
"This is your temple," Shimon whispered. Mahad stared at him. Only high priests – or confirmed priests-in-training, not mere magicians – had their own private space, an individual training ground. "It is incomplete, because it was begun only when you started your lessons. At some point, you will be interred here."
The boy swallowed. Please, not tonight. He prayed silently to Ra, and to Ra's holy dragon. His heart was not ready to be weighed by the gods.
Mahad would feel better, if he didn't feel as though he was a criminal being marched to his trial. At least Shimon and Ako didn't grab hard, like he was sure Akhenaden would have. They passed under the great stone archway, and Pharaoh made a motion for the guards to turn back.
"This is a place for priests. Mahad's own." The guards murmured their assent, and nodded to Mahad as they passed. It did little to alleviate his terror, the respect that was being offered to him. Sacrifices were also offered respect.
But he had to stay strong. Think straight, and logically. It was unlikely he would meet his end here, not tonight. The Pharaoh had promised a cure for him. The afterlife was a good place, but it was generally agreed that living long here was the first course of action.
Mahad almost gasped when he entered the main chamber. From the bottom of the deep pits along the walkway, to the very high ceiling, there were stone slabs. Hundreds of them.
"Someday," Ako whispered, "You will capture powerful ka, and it will be stored here for you."
That could mean he was supposed to grow up. Not die here, at the hands of his teachers. He nodded, but did not betray his rush of relief.
When they reached the end altar, Akhenamkanen stepped behind it, ordering the others to stop with a wave of his hand. It was amazing, Mahad thought, the respect such a person held, that he could stop the whole procession with a gesture. Pharaoh took a torch from Shimon, lighting its twin on the altar and setting into a holder.
He looked at Mahad, and the boy lifted his chin, keeping eye contact. "Step forward. Onto the square at your feet."
He felt the hands let go, and looked down at a large slab of stone. It was identical to the ones that lined the walls, and Mahad almost didn't do it. They were going to seal away his soul. They were going to take it away from him, bury it so its magic couldn't hurt anyone. He wouldn't even get to the afterlife.
Pharaoh's voice was gentle but firm. "Now, Mahad."
The boy took a deep breath, before stepping forward. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck were standing up. Was it from fear or just the cold? He couldn't tell.
The priests walked alongside him, taking their positions before the king. Pharaoh's deep voice echoed in the temple.
"Mahad, student magician of High Priest Ako, ward of Pharaoh and servant of the Gods of Egypt. Your soul will now be judged by the Millennium Items."
Oh, Ra, help him escape, help the Pharaoh change his mind and save his soul from being sealed ...
Then Mahad realized there was no sun. It was night. There was no moon, either. Not even Ra's child, the scribe Thoth, was watching over him. Only darkness.
He was alone.
For a split second, as he saw the first priest step forward, Mahad's facade broke. As the Key began to open his soul, he cried out.
"Pharaoh, spare me! I don't want to die!"
Nobody replied, and all he saw was a white flash before the world went black.
/
"Mahad."
This voice was familiar. But he couldn't decide whom it belonged to. He was tired. So tired.
"Mahad."
"By the Gods, we've killed him."
"Shut up, Shada, he's coming to."
"Be still, both of you. Pharaoh speaks. Mahad, open your eyes."
Someone was shaking his shoulder, gently. He blinked. There, hovering over him, was the Pharaoh. He was too tired to even be surprised.
"This is the second time," Mahad said weakly.
Then Shimon's laughter rang out in the temple. "So he lives! The boy is made of strong stuff!"
The tension broke, now that they knew their plan had worked. Mahad was still alive. They had cured him.
Pharaoh's voice was gentle. "How do you feel, my boy?"
My boy. He was the Pharaoh's boy. "Tired."
The king smiled. "To be expected. You have lost quite a lot of magic."
Mahad sat straight up, and he couldn't hide his horror. "My... my magic? My King, you took it away?" He had to swallow back the panic rising in his throat. "You sealed my magic?" Without his magic, he was nothing. Just another boy without parents, who happened to have a small inheritance and a room in the palace. Plenty of people had that much.
But Akhenamkhanen was still smiling. "No, Mahad. Not all of your magic. Never would we take an innocent one's very ka."
Ako spoke up then, and Mahad thought his teacher looked close to tears. "You carried a staggering amount of power, for someone so young and inexperienced. So much, in fact, that you were unable to keep it in check. It was what caused your sickness. Your ba is that of a child, but your ka was far beyond it."
Mahad blinked. He couldn't decide whether he was proud, or terrified that he had been carrying that all of this time. All his life.
"Your soul could not find balance," said the Pharaoh. "So it lashed out at you. Beneath you, in this tablet, is your power. We have locked it, and you will not be able to call upon it unless you are standing here as a High Priest, wielding the Millennium Ring."
The Millennium Ring. He would hold the Millennium Ring! He was so pleased that he almost forgot what had happened before he was judged.
"...I thought you were going to sacrifice me," he said finally. "That I was too dangerous to keep. And then you put me on trial ... I thought you would seal me away."
The Pharaoh looked shocked. The priests stared at him.
"By the gods, no!" Ako's horror was clear. "Never, Mahad! You are like my own son!"
This mix of pride, relief, and utter shame was rather confusing. The boy cleared his throat, and with the Pharaoh's help, sat up.
"Masters, I apologize," he said softly. "To you as well, my king. I should have known better."
"Perhaps," Shada said suddenly. He was the youngest priest, and Mahad did not know him well. "But the way he screamed when we tried him, I thought he might really go."
Mahad looked at him in horror, then looked at the stone beneath him, ashamed.
"Shada!" cried Nuru, the female priest. "He's a boy, so I don't see why it should matter!"
"I'm sorry, my King," the student croaked. "I should be stronger, for you."
The king shook his head. "The Millennium Trial," he said, giving Shada a pointed look, "is a terrifying experience for the strongest of men. You were not even awake to keep your behaviour in check. I abhor that we had to try you in the first place, to complete your cure."
Pharaoh stood up, pulling Mahad with him and making sure to support the still-shaky boy on his feet. "As this is Mahad's own place, and not yet ready for him," he announced, "We are leaving immediately. He must rest, we must prepare. In a week's time, Mahad will begin his priest's training in earnest." His eyes twinkled with amusement. "And he must get well for Prince Atem's birthday celebrations, in two weeks. He will be horrified if his dearest friend cannot attend."
Mahad smiled faintly. "I would never hear the end of it."
The king smiled at him – really smiled. He seemed to be letting down his guard, out of relief alone. "Shada, carry him out. He will ride with you."
The young priest looked apprehensive, but came forward and picked up the boy. "I'm sorry," he whispered, at a volume only Mahad could hear. "I did not want to shame you."
"I forgive you," was his quiet reply. Mahad was asleep before they left the temple, and did not wake up again until the next afternoon.
/
Life became relatively normal again, after he was pronounced well. His training was suddenly slightly harder, but Mahad managed. He got to play with his friends again. He thought he'd never pull Mana from his leg when she first saw him again, and it was even enjoyable to help Atem catch up on all the schoolwork he'd missed.
He even found himself forming a kinship with Shada. Nuru as well, as they were the two youngest priests. Shada was friendly when you got to know him. Nuru was sisterly, and funny. He found himself happy to see them both, even if Akhenaden seemed to disapprove.
Two weeks later, he ate and laughed with the rest of city as Atem's eighth birthday was celebrated. Atem ate so much that he was sick, to his everlasting chagrin.
"Now I am the one stuck in bed," he said to Mahad, who was sitting with him the next day. Mana was playing at his feet, with her favourite doll.
Mahad smiled. "I suppose so. But you should know how many figs is too many, Prince."
He pouted. "They're good, though. You ate a lot, too."
"I didn't throw up beside Master Shimon."
Mana wrinkled her nose. "Gross! It's a good thing Pharaoh loves you, Atem. I don't love you quite so much after that."
Atem scowled, folding his arms over his chest. "Father will love me no matter what! More than he loves you and Mahad!"
"I'm still his subject!"
"Well I'm his son!"
Mahad let them argue. It was always better that way, to just have them let off steam. But Mahad didn't feel a sting from the prince's rather heartless remark. He didn't mean it. Besides, the Pharaoh did love Mahad. Not as much as he loved his son, perhaps, but he had sat on Atem's other side at the table's head, during his birthday celebration. He and the young student had exchanged some words. Spoken about his training.
The attention made his very ba glow, he thought. Maybe someday he could serve this Pharaoh – nothing would make him more proud. He knew he would serve his friend Atem. He could imagine nothing else.
Pharaoh had seemed tired, though. It worried him, a little. The king had always been strong, and never had Mahad or anyone else notice him falter. Maybe he was always tired, and Mahad was just getting older and noticing more easily.
He looked up. Atem and Mana were laughing together, now. Mahad knew it wouldn't take very long for them to settle that. He wouldn't worry about Pharaoh. Right now, he would enjoy seeing his friends for the first time in three weeks. He wasn't sick anymore.
Someday he would get his magic back. And use it for something amazing. He would save the Pharaoh with it, even. But not yet.